


Late Night Ambushes

by junko



Series: Written in the Scars (of Our Hearts) [25]
Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-20
Updated: 2013-09-20
Packaged: 2017-12-27 03:20:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/973694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junko/pseuds/junko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary:  After saying goodbye, Renji and Byakuya go their separate ways.  Renji returns to the shoten and has a unsettling conversation with Urahara.  Meanwhile, Byakuya comes face to face with his dreaded auntie....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late Night Ambushes

**Author's Note:**

> My Muse went on a rampage and spewed all sorts of interesting new plot twists and non-canon backstory. Feel free to disregard anything you disagree with.
> 
> Thanks to Josey (cestus) for her help as always!

The actual good-bye was a hurried affair. Since Byakuya and Eishirō had furniture and two giggling girls to contend with, Renji ended up standing some distance from their bustle on street outside the ōnsen consoling the weeping mod soul in Byakuya’s gigai. 

When the doors slid open and everything was finally organized. Rukia and Orihime ran up gave Renji a big bear hug. Orihime gave the mod soul a Kleenex and an awkward, if heart-felt pat on the shoulders, which it accepted with absolutely no dignity at all and instead, bawled louder.

Byakuya himself didn’t much look at Renji, except once, at the very last moment when he turned and met Renji’s eye briefly before stepping through the doors of the senkaimon. Even at a distance, Renji could feel the emotions contained in that simple glance: Byakuya didn’t want to go and was already missing him.

Renji smiled and waved him off. “I’ll see you.”

Byakuya nodded. “I will write.”

The mod soul burst into another loud chorus of sobs.

 

#

The taxi ride home was awkward. Byakuya’s mod soul curled up against Renji’s side in the back seat and continued to weep. Renji slung his arm around Byakuya’s body, rubbing its back, as the hot, wet stain on his shoulder grew larger. The driver kept glancing in the rearview, until Renji finally said, “Bad day.”

The cabbie nodded, though he pressed his lips together as if deciding the whole thing was none of his business. 

Meanwhile, the mod soul’s cuddliness was disconcerting. The muscles under Renji’s hand felt right, as did the way his calloused palms occasionally snagged the smooth silk. But, the smell was… off. Somehow, in the hair that pressed to Renji’s nose the jasmine and musk scent of the real deal came through, but under that was a smoky odor, the distinct flavor of magic.

It was the body he’d spent the weekend with, but not the soul.

And, of course, the whole crying thing was beyond weird. 

Yet, even with all these clear indicators that this thing pressing itself into him wasn’t Byakuya, the physical contact was arousing the fuck out of Renji… because it felt like Byakuya and looked like Byakuya. Worse, the hand on his chest that kept curling into his tee-shirt desperately, reminded Renji of the real-Byakuya’s touch, and how loving he had been no less than twenty minutes ago.

Gods, the shower! Byakuya’s hands, slick with soap, all over him? And, Byakuya kept murmuring such sweet, loving things… thank gods the water of the sento had been hot enough to discourage ardor or he’d have embarrassed himself by coming just from all the touch.

And, now this body that was sort-of, but-totally-not Byakuya was all over his. The one hand pressed at Renji’s chest, the other wrapped around his thigh, tantalizingly close, almost-right, but so wrong.

Did it count as cheating if you messed around with your lover’s gigai? Renji ran his fingers through the gigai’s silky hair, and the mod looked up at him with a sniff. So unnaturally expressive those eyes were that looked back at him--and innocent, too. 

Yeah, it did. 

Plus, it’d be like seducing a child.

Just then, the taxi pulled into the dusty parking lot in front of Urahara Shōten. The driver put an arm on the backrest, and looked at the two of them through plastic divider. “A candy shop?” he asked, clearly skeptical of this whole scenario from start to finish. “It looks closed or abandoned. You boys really want off here?”

“Yeah,” Renji said, feeling extra awkward when he had to fish the yen from the mod soul’s pocket. “Uh, you know what they say about chocolate, right? It cheers him up.”

“Sure,” the cabbie said, clearly aware he’d been handed a load of bullshit and just as obviously choosing not to engage.

Renji paid, and then he struggled the still sobbing mod soul out of the taxi. The instant they were both upright and the door shut, the cab squealed away. Its tires burned rubber, like it was fleeing a crime scene.

Which maybe the driver thought he was… Renji really couldn’t blame the guy. They made an odd couple even when Byakuya was in full possession of the gigai. Renji was sure they looked really sketchy now: him all tattooed and hanging on to the mod soul, who was incoherent and crying like maybe he was injured or drugged or both. And then dropped off in this shady part of town, with the shop all shuttered up for the night? Yeah, Renji would be lucky if no one called the cops.

Definitely time to get them both inside, fast. Renji retrieved the soul-glove out of the back pocket of his jeans, and, while awkwardly trying to keep the mod soul from sinking to its knees and sobbing in the dirt, got it pulled on. 

Slapping the mod hard on the back, the pill was forcibly expelled from its mouth. Renji nabbed it mid-air. As the body went limp, Renji threw the empty gigai over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

Renji would have let the mod soul walk itself in, but the shōten was dark enough that Renji had to assume everyone had gone to bed for the night, even though it wasn’t terribly late. The last thing he wanted was for the mod’s weeping and carrying on to wake anyone. It was a school night, after all, Renji thought with a grimace. Tomorrow would be an early rise for most of the shōten. 

Renji could probably skip school again, but it might be worth going to see if Ichigo was back yet and who Ikkaku was terrorizing on the playground these days. 

School.

What a farce. Urahara had gone to all that trouble to forge transfer papers, and hardly any of them even went to school beyond that first day. Yumichika might be going, since he and Ikkaku were still being weird over Keigo’s sister, but, then again, Yumichika might be out with Matsumoto, who did nothing but shop. Captain Hitsugaya seemed to spend his days playing soccer and wandering around in a giant sulk, as far Renji could tell, though he’d heard that there was some old lady the captain visited, too. 

Rukia had taken Orihime back for training, at least. Ishida and Ichigo were off secretly doing their thing, too. Chad worked his ass off with Renji.

In fact, when he thought about it, Renji realized the humans were putting most of his ‘crack team’ to shame. Him and Rukia were the only ones from the Soul Society doing jack, and all their energy was devoted to helping out the humans who seemed strangely more determined to win this fight.

Maybe because they had no idea how impossible it would be.

Renji set Byakuya’s gigai down in the closet marked ‘returns.’ There was a tansu that was made up of small drawers, and Renji pulled open the one marked with the soul candy’s name and dropped the little green pill into it. The glove he laid on the top of the dresser.

It was weird to close the door on Byakuya’s face, the captain’s body slumped against the wall, his eyes empty and open. As the door slid shut, Renji had to suppress a shudder. He whispered a little prayer that he would never, ever have to see the real Byakuya like that.

As quietly as he could, Renji headed off to bed. 

Of course, the instant he passed Urahara’s door a sing-song voice called out, “Oh, is that you, Lieutenant Abarai?” 

As if Urahara couldn’t tell. “Yeah, it’s me.”

Just when Renji thought he could go on without further interaction the door slid open a crack. Though mostly shadowed, Renji could just barely make out a tuft of blond hair and the glint of sharp, grey eyes. 

And a surprising expanse of naked, pale flesh.

“A good weekend, was it?”

“Uh,” Renji realized he was staring at the length of exposed skin and trying to parse out what all he was seeing, so he looked away sharply. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to hide his interest. “Yeah, good times. We went to an amusement park and a museum and had a ton of sex. Oh and we bought manga. Ah, fuck. Mine is probably all still over at the hotel.”

“No,” Urahara said with a little huff of a laugh. “Byakuya’s manservant brought it over a few hours ago. It’s all in your room. Including that darling stuffed tiger!”

“Oh, good,” Renji said in relief. He’d almost forgotten about the tiger. “Hey, you think Ishida is a good enough tailor to make that thing into a nue?”

The question seemed to take Urahara by surprise. Renji could almost imagine the flutter of the fan, to the point that it was strange not to see it. Finally, Urahara said, “Well, you’d have to ask Kon! But, if I were you, I’d be prepared to have whatever you gave him come back with a Quincy cross on it somewhere.”

Huh. Well, that put a damper on things. Renji wasn’t old enough to remember the big Quincy/Shinigami shakedown, but he didn’t guess it’d be proper to snuggle up to something sporting Quincy colors. The head captain might court martial him on the spot.

“Oh well, it was just a thought,” Renji said, and started towards his room.

“I see. That changes things for you, does it?”

Renji glanced back over his shoulder. From this angle he could see almost nothing of Urahara, except a tiny wisp of stray hair that caught the meager light. “Don’t you figure?”

There was a long silence. Then, the bit of hair disappeared and the door slid firmly shut. “Goodnight, Lieutenant Abarai.”

Renji stood there for awhile, feeling like he’d failed some test. Was he supposed to like the Quincy now? They were sworn enemies of the shinigami, weren’t they? ‘Course, there was technically only the one left, and Renji got along as well as anyone did with the prickly archer. Well, okay, to be fair, Renji’d nearly killed Ishida the first time they met, but, hell, he’d done the same to Ichigo and they were friends now, weren’t they? 

As nice as Ishida was, it wouldn’t do for Renji to go parading around the Seireitei with a stuffed animal under one arm decorated up like the Quincy war banner, now would it? Might give some of the old farts heart attacks, if nothing else. Wandering around with the symbol of an old enemy just seemed like bad form.

But, then, why did Urahara’s reaction make Renji feel like such a bigot?

Fuck. Five minutes in the door and he’d already been creeped out and confused. _Welcome back to life at the shōten, Renji Abarai_ , he thought to himself as he made his way to his room.

Thunder rolled overhead ominously. 

#

Byakuya and his party came out of the senkaimon into driving rain. Lightning slashed through the heavy cloud cover. Hail started to fall; cold chunks of ice slashing against exposed skin. Byakuya stripped out of the captain’s haori and handed it to Rukia. “Cover yourselves,” he insisted to her. To the servants who instantly moved to protect him with their umbrellas, he ordered, “Don’t bother with us. We can shunpō. Shelter the workers. Get everyone inside as quickly as possible. Leave the furniture.”

Eishirō looked stricken, though his voice was nearly lost in the howling wind as he protested, “But, my lord, the finish will be ruined.”

“Things can be replaced,” Byakuya said sharply, static in the air making the hair on the back of his neck prickle. They needed to be indoors immediately, “If you must, leave the items inside the Precipice World, but go! Now!”

Lightning struck the old white oak that had stood in the courtyard for five centuries. Before Byakuya could even react, a bright orange shield—kidō?—appeared and blocked the flying debris from hitting anyone. As he continued to direct people inside, Byakuya glanced at Rukia, curious which spell she’d used so quickly. To his surprise, he saw the human girl, Orihime, under the haori, touching her hair pieces and concentrating very hard.

Curious.

No time to ponder it now. At least the near-miss lightning had done what Byakuya could not and had convinced the workers to abandon their haul. Everyone made a final dash indoors.

“I’m sorry, nii-sama,” Rukia said. As they all shook themselves out in the main hall, she handed back the wet haori guiltily. “It’s soaked.”

“We’re all soaked,” Byakuya said kindly, taking it from her and gave it to Eishirō, who waited with hands out. If the sentō weren’t a dash outside, he’d suggest everyone go for a bath. Instead, he said, “Why don’t you show your friend to the indigo suite? I’m sure once the staff has had a chance to recover we can take tea in the sitting room.”

“I’ll have the fire pit stoked, my lord,” Eishirō said with a bow.

But, before Eishirō could scurry away, Byakuya stopped him with, “Yes, but once you’ve issued your orders and organized your staff, you must allow the under-butler to continue your duties for the evening. You’ve worked all weekend. Take the night off and tomorrow, for that matter.”

Byakuya didn’t think he’d said anything particularly unusual or profound, but all of the staff, including Eishirō stared at him with dumbfounded expressions.

“Do I need to repeat myself?” Byakuya asked, growing irritated.

“Uh, no, my lord, it will be as you say.”

“Excellent,” Byakuya said, turning toward his own suite, intending to strip out of his wet clothes. Twenty minutes of precious time alone, that was all he needed, then he could play host to Rukia and the mysterious Orihime, who was clearly much, much more than she seemed.

However, he only made it as far as the stair before his aunt accosted him cheerfully, “Ah, Byakuya-chan, how good to see you.”

He wished he could say the same. “My lady aunt, I understand you’ve moved in.”

“Yes, to the east wing. The rooms were dusty. I took the liberty of having them cleaned.”

She took entirely too much liberty. The east wing had belonged to Byakuya’s mother. Everything in those rooms had remained untouched since her death. No one had moved or rearranged anything upon Byakuya’s father’s command centuries ago.

Byakuya had never explicitly renewed the order, and without himself or Eishirō to defend the house, the staff had been entirely at Aunt Masama’s mercy.

She seemed to mistake his seething fury for grief. “Oh, dear boy, I understand it’s difficult, but it’s time for you to move on.”

A clap of thunder shook the house. Rain lashed against the outer wall.

“Perhaps,” Byakuya said calmly, “But that’s not your decision to make. It is mine. Just as this house is mine.”

Byakuya used the word ‘house’ very deliberately, to invoke the sense of family name as well.

Aunt Masama had the audacity to look confused.

So, Byakuya spelled it out more clearly. Turning his back on her, he walked up the stairs. As he did, he said, “You will remove yourself from my mother’s suites tonight or I will have my division’s soldiers remove you forcibly in the morning. If you attempt another such run-around of my authority in my house, our deal is off. There will be no heir and the Kuchiki name can be buried with me.”

“You can’t do this!” she hissed.

“You’ll see that I can.” Byakuya said, but he stopped and looked at her over his shoulder. Lightning crackled, followed by the rushing boom of thunder. “I fail to understand, however, why you’ve chosen to make us enemies again. We had come to an accord.”

Her voice was shrill and echoed through the large room. “You spent a weekend in the Human World, Byakuya. Why?”

This was some kind of misguided attempt to punish him for continuing to see Renji? “You know why: to see my lover.”

“You went to him, even after your former captain told you what happens when you’re with someone like him, without the purification?”

She was like some single note instrument. “Your obsession with this particular issue is concerning, lady aunt. You have a lot to organize tonight and I need to get out of my wet clothes. We can discuss this in the morning.”

“It’s important, Byakuya.”

Byakuya shook his head. He was done with this foolishness; he finished climbing the stairs with the intention of leaving her to whatever crazy fetish she had about the purification rite. 

“It’s what killed your father,” she said.

That stopped him. “Do you dare insinuate that my mother was not a pure-blooded noble?”

“No,” she said with a little laugh at the preposterousness of the idea, “Gods, no, of course not. His lover, however, was a dirty little Rukongai wh—“

“Don’t.” Byakuya’s voice boomed. “You will not use that word.” He turned around sharply. “Besides, you know full well that my father’s lover was not of the floating world. The scandal was that she was a soldier.”

“Like yours, which is why he refused to have her cleansed, and look at the price my brother paid for his pigheadedness!” She was near to tears and her voice shook.

So, this was what fueled his aunt’s intense focus on the purification rite. Masama had convinced herself that his father had failed in battle, not because he was ill-suited for it, but because his lover had robbed him of his reiatsu.

The only problematic part of this theory was that it appealed to Byakuya.

His soft-spoken father had been a phenomenal warrior. Byakuya had long admired his martial skills. Despite the picture people preferred to paint of Sōjun Kuchiki--being a poet and a stone-cold killer were not mutually exclusive.

It had always gnawed at Byakuya’s pride to hear all the whispers after his father’s death about how such a decent man had no place on the battlefield, that Sōjun should have stayed in the library and refused the call to arms.

Refused the call? Did those people not understand how impossible it was to reject your true nature, to ignore dreams sent by a zanpakutō? And Sōjun’s zanpakutō had been a bloody, powerful demon-beast.

Not unlike Zabimaru, in its own way.

To know this and to say Sōjun was too gentle a soul to fight was an insult to man and sword.

“Still,” Byakuya said, “Where’s your proof?”

Masama pounded her chest with a curled fist, “In my heart!”

He nodded. She must feel the same way he did. Still, without proof, it was nothing more than conjecture, a wild guess. No one could say for certain what had happened that day. Great men were not any more protected from fate than any other soul. But, this talk of proof triggered a memory of an earlier conversation. 

“You’ve been searching for her name in the sealed soul records,” he realized. “But you stumbled across my lover’s name instead.”

From his vantage point at the top of the stair, Byakuya couldn’t see her blush, but her posture changed instantly. She dipped her head. “Yes.”

“And you fear I’ll suffer the same fate?”

“I do, Byakuya. Please understand that I love you. I keep hearing rumors about the defected captain Aizen and how strong his new army is. I can’t stand the thought of you going to battle with a hidden weakness and another Kuchiki being so stupidly wasted, when a simple thing could fix it, save you!”

Byakuya’s sympathy was turning. Like him, Masama had lost nearly everyone she loved--her own father and mother, her brother, her sister-in-law, and… her husband, Kōga. Though her husband was lost in an entirely more painful way, not dead, but branded a traitor and imprisoned forever.

“But, what you’re asking comes at a price to Renji,” Byakuya said. “You would have me trade my strength for his.”

A tiny sob escaped her throat. “That’s just what your father said.”

Her words were like a stab to Byakuya’s heart. 

“I can’t deny that you’ve made a compelling case,” he said after a moment. “I’ll think on this. For now, my clothes are wet and you have things to move. Goodnight.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm fairly certain I've implied Byakuya's father, Soujun, had lovers previous to this installment. This isn't meant as a besmirching of his character. It wouldn't have been at all uncommon or considered ill-mannered to marry for status and have lovers for fun and pleasure. Byakuya, you'll note, is neither surprised nor offended by it. I suspect, in fact, this was an added pressure for Byakuya to NOT marry Hisana, but keep her as a kept woman, as it were. That Byakuya defied tradition to marry for love makes him an odd noble.
> 
> Also, I can't remember if I ever have had Byakuya have memories of his mother alive. I may have, because for a while, I thought perhaps she might have died of a broken heart after Soujun died. I don't know that I ever wrote that into the story. If I did, I've changed it here, partly because conversations with Josey (cestus) have, convinced me that Byakuya reads like a man raised by military men.
> 
> UPDATED TO ADD: Since the very FIRST commenter remembered exactly when and how Byakuya talked about his mother, I've edited this to be consistent. Not a big change, anyway.


End file.
